


Generation Wilde

by WonderStarLord



Category: Gilmore Girls, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29734734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderStarLord/pseuds/WonderStarLord
Summary: “Give them back.”“Give back what?”“The badges.”“What badges?”“The Prefect badges I know you took.”“You know I took them?”“Yes.”“What do you think I took?”Andromeda recognised that this line of questioning would bear no fruit. She pulled out her wand and gave it a concise flick.“You’re no fun.”She made to leave. “Goodbye, Lor.”The Wilde Generation AKA Generation Wilde AKA Gen W. Although I think Badass could also definitely apply.They all were – there was no other word for it –cool.
Relationships: Lorelai Gilmore/Regulus Black, Lorelai Gilmore/Sirius Black





	Generation Wilde

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a different _HP_ / _GG_ universe to _A Sedate and Most Civilised Dinner Party_.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Lorelai grew up surrounded by the Blacks and Rosiers, and is in the same year as Regulus Black.  
>   
> Sirius and Lorelai share first cousins (Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa) but are not directly related themselves – these pure-bloods are an awfully incestuous lot, aren’t they?

The compartment door slammed instead of tentatively sliding when it opened again. A pretty girl with shining brown hair and incredibly bright blue eyes shot inside. She shoved the door shut as loudly as she had opened it. She then turned around, slumped against the door and flopped onto the floor. She did all this while, strangely, maintaining an air of indefinable dignity.

James Potter had jumped up on his seat in shock. Bewilderment and excitement were warring for top billing on his face. Sirius Black was unperturbed. Still lounging on the seats opposite James, he merely looked on, mildly amused. Interestingly, his ever-present haughtiness had abated. Somewhat.

“You look nice,” remarked Sirius.

The girl sent him an expression of mixed annoyance and exasperation. “Emily,” she said with a flat finality, though she thoughtfully added, “or the Muggles. How can they possibly stand wearing rubbish like this? What in Merlin’s pants is the point of a petticoat – or, for that matter, just what exactly _are_ petticoats? Because apparently I’m supposed to wear twelve of these flimsy robe-like things underneath this monstrosity!”

Draped in satin and lace and pearls, she wore the fluffiest white article of clothing either boy had ever seen. She looked like a disgruntled little princess.

“There was this ghastly bonnet I had to talk Mum out of.” She shuddered. “Although, I’ve got to say, the ruffled knickers? Quite comfortable.”

“I am so very glad I’m not a girl.”

“What d’you reckon? Do I look more like a cloudy marshmallow or a marshmallowy cloud?”

Sirius pretended to be seriously ponder her question. “I don’t think you can go wrong, either way.”

“Yes …” She heavily sighed. “Well …”

She seemed to have only just noticed that there was another boy sharing the compartment. James felt a bit indignant. He wasn’t used to being ignored, whether it be unintentional or not. Her face smoothed over, haughty but without the boredom, reminding him slightly of Sirius when they had introduced themselves.

“I’ve been ever so impolitely remiss. I may have to give back my pearls. What a shame!” she sarcastically cried. “Forgive me for forgetting to make with the pleasantries. It’s been a rather eventful day.”

She got to her feet, swift and easy. The graceful motion was surprising, considering that she had made her first impression by barging inside like a stampeding centaur.

“Hi.” She daintily held out her hand. “I’m Lorelai.”

“James.”

Their hands had clasped when the compartment door opened again. A soft knock preceded the next grand entrance. An older girl in billowing black robes – of incomparably better quality than the rags that Snivelly had scuttled in wearing – strode in, light-footed and tall. She was striking. A gleaming badge engraved with the exalted ‘HG’ superimposed on the Hogwarts crest was neatly pinned to her chest. She saw Lorelai and indulgently shook her head, but not without a clear chastising note.

“I know you took them, Lor.”

“Took what?” Lorelai’s widening eyes made her look far too innocent for that to actually be the case.

“The badges. Lucius and Cissy’s Prefect Badges. Can I please have them back?”

“Back? But they’re not yours, now, are they? If I did have said badges, I’d need to return them to their original owners in order to give them back.”

“Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Give them back.”

“Give back what?”

“The badges.”

“What badges?”

“The Prefect badges I know you took.”

“You know I took them?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think I took?”

The older girl appeared to recognise that this line of questioning would bear no fruit. She pulled out her wand and gave it a concise flick. A pair of silver and green objects flew out from somewhere within Lorelai’s white dress(s?) and into her outstretched hand.

“You’re no fun.”

She made to leave. “Goodbye, Lor.”

“Mad with power – that’s what you are, Andy! Mad with power!”

“I’ll see you at the feast, Lor,” she called over her shoulder, lightly laughing.

“Everyone, look out, the Head Girl’s gone mad with power! This lofty new position of yours has gone straight to your head! You –” Lorelai was suddenly distracted by the large pile of sweets by the window. “Oo! Cauldron cakes!”

* * *

Sirius was lounging on a royal blue velvet sofa, arms spread out and head thrown back, staring at the domed glass ceiling that had been covered in sparkling silver frost instead of being draped with its customary blue silk hangings. Garlands of holly and ivy, which hosted hundreds of fluttering fairies, crossed underneath it.

He was counting holly berries when his triumphant retreat from the fine dress-robed witches and wizards milling about the Gilmores’ wide, circular drawing room was disturbed.

A fast, frantic “Please, Sirius – please, please, please,” came immediately after he felt a dip in the plush velvet cushioning.

Sirius let out a long-suffering sigh. “How much have you had this evening?”

“None.”

“Plus …”

“A bit.”

“How much is a bit?”

“Less than a lot.”

“You have a problem.”

“No more than you.”

“Debatable.” Regardless, he withdrew a hip flask from the stiff pocket of his new emerald green dress robes. “Junkie.” He blamed Andromeda, who used to sneak her little cousins Butterbeer when they were children and it was too much for their tiny bodies to handle.

“Flaskie!” exclaimed Lorelai, grabbing the thin silver flask engraved with a set of initials that never failed to make her laugh: _S.O.B._

Lorelai took a few gulps too many of Firewhisky too fast and burped smoke.

“All class, you are.”

“Be nice, Sirius, or I’ll drink you dry.”

Sirius lackadaisically tilted his head to one side to face Lorelai, a challenging glint in his grey eyes. “You can try.” She didn’t know that he had successfully enchanted the flask with a Permanent Refilling Charm on the train home for the holidays.

Lorelai was no doubt about to make some witty retort when they heard her mother’s enthusiastic hostess voice ring clearly over the homogeneous chatter and wood-nymph choir.

“You know, Regulus, Brandice is spending next semester at Castelobruxo. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“Yes,” said Regulus promptly as he was unsubtly pushed towards the pretty young witch in front of him by Emily Gilmore’s guiding hand. “Fascinating.”

“Herbology is my favourite subject,” twittered Brandice in her dainty damsel voice that Sirius and Lorelai could barely hear.

“Yes it _is_ ,” Sirius uttered, the corners of his lips curling mischievously. He happened to know from personal experience that Brandice Covendonner favoured the hidden area behind Greenhouse Seven in particular.

Lorelai appeared not to have heard Sirius, her focus on his younger brother instead. “As if he doesn’t already know,” she scoffed. “As if Mum doesn’t know that he already knows.”

Sirius lifted his eyebrow in amusement when Lorelai harshly swigged some more Firewhisky.

“Shouldn’t _your_ mum be pushing prospective pure-blood brides on him instead of mine?” She turned to Sirius crossly. “Where is Walburga? Why isn’t she giving _you_ the Emily treatment?”

“Oh, come on, Lorelai,” he drawled mockingly. “You know why.” The woman didn’t need to. The young pure-blood witch of good breeding and marriageable age that Walburga Black had her dark, hollow heart set on for her eldest son was already breaking proper spacing protocol, within an inappropriate distance of him, vainly draining his flask.

“Oh, right. Because we _belong together_ ,” said Lorelai flatly.

It was what their parents always said about the two of them. It was what a lot of people said about the two of them. It was annoying.

“‘Everyone knows it!’” Sirius mimicked his mother. “‘I know it, Orion knows it –’”

“‘– Emily knows it, Richard knows it!’” she finished for him, unhappy.

“If only their noses weren’t so high up in the air, they’d be able to see the truth.”

Lorelai peered at Sirius curiously while leaning into him. “And what truth would that be?”

He pointedly looked back and forth between Lorelai and Regulus.

“Stop,” she laughed.

He sat up from his lounging position and carried on with vigour.

“Sirius!” cried Lorelai. She was still laughing.

He was like a Crup chasing two Snidgets flying on the opposite ends of a field.

“Sirius, stop.” Lorelai’s laughter had died down. She had grabbed Sirius’s face with her hands. They were warm and soft and smelt like she had been handling her fair share of apple tarts that evening – more than her fair share, knowing her.

“Regulus is my best friend,” Lorelai said seriously.

Sirius jerked his head out of her grasp, dark hair falling into his eyes. “Yes.” He was being needlessly dramatic, he knew, but he had lowered his voice, turning just as serious. “Your best friend who you flirt with, who you fancy, who you try to drive crazy –”

“I’m not _trying_ to do anything,” said Lorelai hotly, her face pink.

“Hilliard, second year.”

Her hooded blue eyes narrowed. “The boy you and your idiot friends tortured into avoiding me after he asked me to be his girlfriend?”

“You said yes,” Sirius said simply.

“I never saw him again, thanks to you!”

He smiled with satisfaction. “You’re welcome, Lorelai.” He and James had pranked the presumptuous prat for weeks. They had earned a month of detention for their relentless, noble battle and Hilliard had been too scared to get within hexing-distance of Lorelai ever since.

“And Regulus didn’t have anything to do with Brian Hilliard,” she argued. “You, on the other hand, made sure I never had a chance to, either.”

Sirius saw Lorelai scowl in his brother’s direction again – specifically at her mother or Covendonner, who knew? Who really actually cared? He returned to his original argument. “Fitz Noble, Hugh Davies, Royston Selwyn –”

“What does _he_ have to do with anything?” The colouring on Lorelai’s face was had deepened to a dangerous red. Any trace of humour had been completely wiped from her pixie-like face, and she was starting to bear an alarming resemblance to their cousin Bellatrix. Nobody talked about Royston Selwyn in front of Lorelai Gilmore.

But Sirius Black didn’t consider himself a nobody.

“Peter Cutting,” he continued, “Bertram Aubrey, Trevor Boot, Dirk Cresswell –”

“Now you’re just listing Ravenclaws.” Lorelai sounded offended.

“Fine then,” Sirius smirked. “Tommy Stebbins, Baldur Atlas, Aldrich Diggory –” he started on the Hufflepuffs before she interrupted him again.

“OK, OK, I get it,” conceded Lorelai reluctantly. “I’m the Tart of Gryffindor Tower.” She crossed her arms. “What I _don’t_ get is what this has to do with me and Regulus, and your mad theories about me and Regulus.”

“ _I’m_ mad, Lorelai.”

“Never has there been a truer statement.”

“My theories aren’t.”

“Never has there been a less sane statement.”

“Lorelai.”

“He’s my best friend, Sirius. My _best_ friend.”

“Never to be the _boy_ friend?”

“You’re mad.”

“I recall us already covering this.”

“Yeah? Well, I recall me hexing you with a bad case of sores and boils all over your backside.”

“Not in recent memory.”

“Want to change that?” she threatened, dropping Sirius’s hip flask and whipping out her wand.

“Now, Lorelai …”

“What do you think of my new nickname for you: _Crusty Bulge_?”

“Well, it’s no Snuffy.”

“I haven’t called you that since I was six.”

* * *

“Remind me why I’m still taking twelve bloody classes,” Lorelai Gilmore groaned into her furry, purple Stowe & Packers bookbag.

It had been over a month since Erica Catchlove stared uncomprehendingly at Lorelai’s impossible fourth-year timetable. She had Ancient Runes _and_ Care of Magical Creatures during first period on Monday at the _same_ time. After a year of dodgy answers, Erica had given up asking how her best friend managed to attend several classes at once. This was simply another item to list under the Lorelai Paradox.

“You’re a masochist,” said Erica lightly, “that’s why.”

Lorelai pulled out her ostentatiously gilded copy of _Intermediate Transfiguration_ and dropped it on the table. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love that there’s a class where I’m essentially being graded on my ability to bullshit,” she said, referring to the waste of time that was designated as Divination. “But _all_ of them?”

“Like I said. Masochist.”

Lorelai impatiently removed the large golden pin bearing a family crest ( _not_ hers) that she used as a bookmark and continued to groan. “I hate being a Gilmore.” Every Gilmore before her had graduated from Hogwarts with twelve N.E.W.T.s. She was supposed to take twelve classes. And so, here she was, following the plans, taking those twelve bloody classes.

“Better a Gilmore than a grim old Black,” said the tall and arrogant fifth-year who had just carelessly thrown himself down on the wooden bench beside her. He fingered the golden pin that she had tossed aside and grimaced.

Speaking of plans nobody could just change, plans that were embroidered on ancient tapestries and carved into stone walls …

“Can’t wait until I finally get to be Mr Gilmore,” he joked dryly, fixing the golden pin onto her robes with a showman’s flourish. “How about you, love? Anticipating the day you make an honest man out of me?”

Lorelai had known Sirius Black her whole life. Their parents had introduced them to each other when she was still on the teat of her wet nurse and he was breaking toy broomsticks, according to Andy – her cousin, Andromeda – _his_ cousin, Andromeda _Black_. Sirius and Lorelai were separated by several cousins and marriages, not directly related, which made their looming betrothal less disgusting than it could have been. It didn’t help, however, that if she had her pick of Blacks, someone _else_ would have given her the pin she was wearing.

Lorelai’s gaze lifted from a paragraph about Vanishing Spells to Sirius’s teasing greys eyes. She blankly stared at him and started groaning louder. “I hate being a Gilmore.”

“Oh, come now, Lorelai,” he said casually, overloading her plate with eggs and bacon and muffins, before fixing his own breakfast. “It’s not all bad. We get to swot our brains out for the next few years; then make our respectable pure-blood marriage; have a couple of lovely entitled brats; and master the noble art of achieving absolutely nothing. How does that sound?”

“Aside from this ‘we’ and ‘our’ business, smashing,” she smiled sardonically.

“Oh, really?”

“Oh. Really.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius was mixing blueberries into his porridge and Lorelai was petulantly picking at her food with her fork when Erica conspicuously coughed. “So, Sirius, where’s your other half?”

“Where’re your eyes, Catchlove? She’s the astoundingly mature one whinging right next to me,” he said affectionately, poking Lorelai with his spoon.

“She meant your _soulmate_ , Sirius,” corrected Lorelai.

“Yeah,” said Erica, pretending to swoon at the romanticism of it all. “Your _one true love_.”

“The person you _should_ be marrying,” Lorelai finished, and then savagely took a bite of her bacon.

With impeccable timing, James Potter had merrily made himself comfortable on the other side of Sirius, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew in tow. “Here I am.”

“There he is!” exclaimed Lorelai. She leaned into Sirius and brightly said, “ _Now_ you can _leave_.”

“But I haven’t finished my breakfast yet.”

“Remus, be a dear and make him leave,” said Lorelai, batting her eyelashes across the table.

Remus shook his head apologetically. “If only I could …”

Sirius looked between them. “Why am I getting a vague impression I’m not wanted here?”

“ _Vague_ impression?” Lorelai sounded disappointed. “Not a distinct impression?”

* * *

“EMILY, OUR DAUGHTER’S LOSING HER VIRGINITY FIVE-FEET AWAY FROM THE NEW MINISTER FOR MAGIC!”

Lorelai Gilmore, torn between total embarrassment and not really giving a toss (because the British had come and damn well conquered), groped in the dim candlelight for her wand and laughed as Teddy Wiedemier snorted. “Virgin?”

She mock gasped and held the pearlescent blue dress robes that she’d just – quite lawlessly – summoned to her bare chest. “Are you questioning my father’s vehement claims of my _only-just-now_ -soiled virtue?”

Teddy handed Lorelai her black lace knickers with a smirk and brought his lips right up to her ear, whispering, “Never.”

“EMILY!” they could hear Richard Gilmore yelling throughout the house.

* * *

Remus knew more about Lorelai Gilmore than most.

There were the widely known facts: she was the top of every class, unsurprising because, although she was a Gryffindor through and through, she was also a descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw; she ate more than all the school team Beaters in the castle combined; she proudly supported the Banchory Bangers, even though her family owned the Pride of Portree Quidditch team; Regulus was her favourite Black.

And then there were the lesser known ones: she had an almost supernatural affinity for sensing snow, always correctly predicting the first snowfall of the year within the minute; she was a talented aerial equestrian, despite her catastrophic failings on a broomstick; she didn’t detest her family half as much as everybody believed she did; she was arranged to marry Sirius Black the summer after they graduated from Hogwarts.

Lorelai Gilmore was a popular subject of fascination. Particularly amongst the males at Hogwarts. She was one of what they had unanimously nicknamed the Fit Four, which included Marlene McKinnon, Lily Evans and Mary Macdonald.

Lorelai was the most intimidating, on account of being a Gilmore. Pure-blood. Ancient gold. Vast influence. That was the kind of family she belonged to. She had what was probably the most “pristine” magical lineage in all of Britain. It was no wonder that Sirius’s mother so badly wanted to entwine her within the House of Black’s “Noble and Most Ancient” history. Even if her ancestry was deeply rooted in Ravenclaw’s, rather than Slytherin’s.

Sirius liked to complain about Lorelai. Apparently they had been best friends until she was six and he was seven, when they finally came to understand exactly why their parents were so supportive of their tight bond.

Age six was when she began rebelling – at the time, simply for the sake of rebellion – and then him a bit later. There was something to be said about the hard truth that maybe girls really did mature faster than boys. In a state of pixie powder-induced delirium, Sirius had once begrudgingly admitted that Lorelai was the “original rebel”.

Divided they may have decided to be, but they had always followed similar paths. They were as alike as they were different. They were both the best and worst possible people for each other to end up with. They were a matching yet complementing set. It would have been obvious to the deaf, dumb and blind that they were meant to be.

It was funny that she liked his brother so much better – because, well, in all honesty, Sirius Black and Lorelai Gilmore didn’t seem to like one another at all.

Especially not now.

“Hey, Padfoot?”

Sirius acknowledged Remus with a distracted, “Mmm.” He had been distracted a lot lately.

“Why is Lorelai looking at you?”

“I’m nice to look at,” he answered absently.

“You have noticed I am talking about _Lorelai_ _Gilmore_? Since when does she deign to look at you when she doesn’t have to? ’Sides, she’s not so much looking at you as she is staring – _glaring_ , really – I think she’s trying to burn you with her eyes, mate. Better watch out. She seems to dislike you more than usual today.”

“Lorelai?” Sirius had finally begun paying enough attention to cotton on. He sounded alarmed. He pulled out his wand, his grey eyes flashing silver in his panic and darting to down the house table.

She was now standing, about to leave, and rolling her own eyes. She had suddenly grabbed Thomas Stebbins – an innocent bystander – by the front of his robes and pulled him in for a very thorough-looking kiss. While she snogged the brains out of Stebbins, Lorelai raised her left hand.

“Oo, there she flips!” grinned James, who had just joined them.

Peter sat down on James’s other side, just arriving as well. “Up flies the mast!”

“Padfoot, what’d you to do her now?”

Sirius … Sirius actually looked somewhat sheepish … somewhere in the realm of _genuinely apologetic_. That never happened. Especially when it came to Lorelai Gilmore. They had known each other for so long, this kind of behaviour was considered an unnecessary waste of time.

“’S not the bird, Prongs. Check which finger she’s waving.”

Remus made his case, saying, “She’s a bit far –”

“Hard to tell,” Peter finished for him.

“Wait – is that …?” James trailed off.

“Yup. My life is officially over. So’s hers. Our parents aren’t around for her to pave hell all over, so she’s taking it out on me. Mental, irrational bint.”

“Yet you look sorry,” said James, confused.

“Yeah … well … I am. Dunno why, but I am. Sorry. I am sorry. Merlin’s balls, why the hell am I sorry?”

* * *

“Open!”

“Oi! Prongs! You mind letting us in sometime today! The weather’s sodding miserable out here!”

“Open, open, open!”

“It’s us!”

“It’s me, your loveliest lovely Lorelai, and our uncanny Stubby Boardman lookalike.”

“He wishes.”

“You _are_ better looking, aren’t you?”

“Much.”

“Much more.”

“Much, much more.”

“Thank Merlin.”

“Incomparably much more.”

“I just compared him to you – so, _not_ incomparably. I’m going to go with insurmountably.”

“Insurmountably? I think we both know I’m hardly insurmountable.”

“Dirty!”

“We’re engaged!”

“You’re looking at the future Mrs Black – again.”

“As if! If anything, you’re looking at the future Mr Gilmore.”

“What now?”

“Hey, I’m the one who did the proposing.”

“I did it the first time.”

“You threw the ugliest ring I’d ever seen in my life –”

“I told you a hundred times, Lorelai, _I_ didn’t pick the ghastly thing out.”

“– in my lap and said, ‘Guess we have to get married now’ – your enthusiasm for that very romantic gesture may have left something to be desired.”

“Well, it’s not like either of us wanted to get married back then. We didn’t even really like each other back then.”

“True.”

“The words _putain_ and _arschloch_ were used.”

“Also true.”

“Many times.”

“Turns out they were true. I _did_ get knocked up and you _are_ an arsehole.”

“And I didn’t throw the ring.”

“Oh?”

“I tossed it.”

“Because that’s so much better.”

“Sounds it.”

“Oh, well, as long as it _sounds_ better, I guess that’s all right.”

“Good. We’re in agreement.”

“You don’t really expect me to go by ‘Mrs Black,’ do you?”

“Dunno. We haven’t been engaged long enough – this time round – to think on it much. Why?”

“Mrs Black is your mother.”

“OK – OK, all right, then – right – no. No, you are not changing your name. I forbid it.”

“You forbid it?”

“Yes. Expressly.”

“I think I might just do it now out of spite – forbid me to do something, my arse!”

**Author's Note:**

> A few slices of life from an unfinished fic, nonetheless delicious in isolation.  
>   
> If you wanna take any of these ideas for yourself and make something of them, feel free!


End file.
